


Sweater Weather

by neverweremine



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 01:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverweremine/pseuds/neverweremine
Summary: Haddock abruptly stopped singing. Two of them. Haddock. Tintin. The two of them and no one else. Marlinspike Hall afforded them large amounts of privacy, yes, but there was always Nestor or Calculus around to divide attention - and barring them, the manor itself was labyrinthine enough that one could avoid confrontation if they so wished - but in a remote, tiny cabin...
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Tintin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 101





	Sweater Weather

This was Nestor's fault. What had the old coot been thinking, hanging mistletoe all willy nilly? A room over cutlery clinked together and people erupted in merry laughter, and here the Captain stood, trapped by a measly sprig and a stubborn ginger.

"Excuse me, laddie, but you're blocking the door. If you would let me -" Haddock stepped to the side, only for Tintin to mirror him. His cheeks were a ruddy-red and his eyes a dulled hue. Curse the lad for choosing now of all times to drink… "Come now," the captain pleaded, "don't you want to return to the party? This little shindig was your idea, you know."

The boy grinned - a slow, dopey grin that only a man drunk off his ass could pull off - and pointed to the cursed weed dangling from the doorway. "Mistletoe. You know what that means, Captain." Pink lips grew wicked as Tintin stepped forward. Captain Haddock had half a mind to turn on his heel and flee; but before such thoughts could manifest themselves into action, two arms looped around his neck and he had to steady his hands on thin hips before they both collapsed under Tintin's enthusiasm.

"What in blue blazes -?" How drunk was Tintin?

"It's tradition, Captain," the lad said before leaning forward. Note: very drunk. Oh, he knew this party was a terrible idea but did anyone ever listen to the ever sensible Captain Haddock? No. And now look at the position they were in.

He wrenched himself from the lad's grasp before soft lips met his and took the precaution of stepping back until several feet distanced the two. Tintin, who had the gall to close his eyes as if they were in a romantic picture, popped his left eye open. Then his right. The puckered lips fell flat into a frown and Haddock only had a momentary respite before the lad lurched forward with the grace of a man who hadn't yet gotten his sea legs, and - curse him and his instincts - he caught the lad in his arms before he tripped and hit his thick skull upon the floor.

"Captain," Tintin whined, pink lips done in a pout, "don't you want to kiss me?"

"Yes! I mean, no! I - Billion of blazing blue blistering barnacles, Tintin, you're drunk!"

The reporter blinked, his arms drooping over Haddock's hold of him, his weight upheld in the strength of Haddock's hands. "Why that's prepos - prep - prepostru -" His lips pursed, as if frustrated by his mouth's uncooperativeness.

"See! You can't even say 'preposterous.'"

"I'm tipsy at best!" He declared before surging forward for another try. Haddock's throat emitted a noise akin to a dying whale — long and mournful — and he hoisted the other man to his feet.

"You're drunk," he repeated. Then again, "You're drunk," as if reminding himself. "You have asked me many things over our time together, Tintin, but don't ask me this. Please," and here his hands shook. Here, he felt a dangerous and far more tempting pull than a full bottle of whiskey in the moonlight, "don't ask me this."

He took a step back and found himself frozen in the focus of a far too knowing gaze. Behind those glassy eyes gleamed a familiar keen spark — and just as Haddock feared he had laid everything across his skin in easy-to-read newsprint; the restless nights, the warmth in his chest, the stares lingering too long — Tintin broke his gaze. The lad waltzed to the hallway's end; once again standing under the base of this whole mess.

He brushed himself off, straightening his outfit; a familiar gesture the reporter usually reserved for after a long day of escaping near-death experiences, instead of ... whatever had occurred. Haddock blinked and Tintin was standing by the doorway, arm held out in a 'go ahead' gesture. A clear trap. Everything within him urged him to turn tail and escape. Who cared if he was the host? The others knew how to entertain themselves and this was his only chance of retreat. He should return to his room, lock the door, and stay there. Damn the consequences.

Despite the convictions pressing him to head elsewhere, Haddock approached the doorway. Tintin stood motionless, his head bowed, arms outstretched — but regardless, Haddock still felt his gaze like a warm caress.

"It's okay, Captain," the lad reassured in a low whisper as he came close. There was something in his glassy eyes — shifting and malleable — but still sharp. It sent goosebumps along his skin. "I can wait. But don't keep me waiting too long, will you?"

Haddock's tentative walk transformed into a sprint as he scurried away, not stopping until Nestor was offering him cookies on a platter and the Professor was shouting a story of oysters in his ear. For the rest of the evening, he stayed in a corner, keeping an eye out for ginger lads and surprise attacks. He needn't have worried. Tintin was well-occupied — first by the Thompsons, then Snowy, and then afterwards by sleep. He lay the armchair; his body warmed by a blanket Nestor provided.

The next morning showed no signs of recollection, and except for the boy's headache and a forgotten bowler hat on the mantle, it was as if the party had never happened. Nestor had the mistletoe removed before morning's rise, which was excellent. Not like he wanted to remember that night; the distant sounds of the party; Tintin so warm in his embrace.

Yes, best to forget the whole thing.

.

New Year came and went. January passed with nary a peep from the outside world. Whatever happened that night was never mentioned again, and so he endeavored to forget it. For all he knew, it could've been a hallucination; a dream he'd had that could be mistaken for reality, but a dream nonetheless.

.

They were sat in the study. Haddock with a book in hand and Tintin sat at his desk; the clanging of the typewriter serving as the perfect background noise between pages. Outside the window, snow drifted to blanket the world in white. Haddock had been two chapters deep by the time he realized the room had gone silent save for the grandfather clock's ticking. He peered over the starch pages to find Tintin rotating his shoulders; his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. A glance at the grandfather clock confirmed it had been three hours since they'd sat.

He laid his book flat and strode to him. He grabbed those rigid shoulders, digging his thumbs into the tendons at the base of the lad's neck.

"Oh," Tintin exhaled, "A little lower."

Haddock obeyed and watched as the tenseness in Tintin's posture came undone. "Didn't I tell you to take breaks?"

"But the deadline -"

"Blast the deadline. Do more nonstop work and you're liable to strain something."

"And here I thought you only worried when we're in the middle of a shootout."

"I'm worried all the time," he punctured his sentence with a flick to the ear, "You make me worry."

A chuckle rose from Tintin's lips; short but, mirthful.

"Oh, is that funny to you — making an old sea dog sick as he frets over your health?"

"Hilarious."

Haddock grumbled but did not remove his hands. He rubbed his thumbs against the center of the lad's shoulder blades before following the notches of Tintin's spine to the base of his neck. It wasn't long before the boy relaxed enough to slump into his chair, and so they continued; the room silent except for the ever-ticking clock.

It was as he was moving onto the ends of the shoulders that Tintin spoke.

"Have you thought of what I said, Captain?"

Haddock hummed, his mind handing him memories from that morning. They had talked with Calculus on his plans for the garden once spring came, then they had a short conversation around the books they had read, which transformed into gossip of the new theater opening up next month ... He couldn't remember Tintin asking him his opinion on any pressing matters.

"Refresh my mind. Of what?"

"Of us. Together."

Haddock's hands stilled as Tintin turned towards him; soft lips a hair's breadth from kissing the tips of his knuckles. A dream, he thought. Another hallucination come to drive him mad. But then Tintin was turning full body and he let go. His mind flashed with memories of the Christmas party.

_I can wait. But don't keep me waiting for too long, will you?_

There's no way — he couldn't — the lad couldn't have meant —

"You can't run away forever, Captain." Tintin informed him, as if resuming a conversation they had dropped; a conversation Haddock was desperately struggling to remember, "My patience may stretch longer than most, but even it has its limits. You must decide."

The words escaped his mouth even as his mind tried to rationalize this sudden new direction. "And if I can't?"

Tintin graced him with a look that could only be described as devilish. "Then I'll have to up my game, won't I?"

.

Whatever scruples Haddock had on the matter vanished as another adventure arrived on their doorstep. Or more accurately, begged for help on their doorstep. A foreign man who had been visiting the country lost his daughter. Kidnapped, he suspected, due to a forged note in his daughter's handwriting. And because of the forged note's contents, the local police force wouldn't help him. Thus, he came to them.

They never could enjoy a simple break, could they?

On the upside, the danger of chasing two troglodytes through sleet-slick streets had all but wiped half-hallucinatory love confessions from his mind. By the time they'd rescued Miss Schmid from the clutches of hooligans in search of ransom money, Haddock could think of nothing more than returning to Marlinspike Hall and collapsing in front of the fireplace until feeling returned to his extremities.

"Thank you," Mr. Schmid - a rich Switzerland banker - said once they returned, a missing daughter in tow. "Thank you so much for returning my daughter. I must repay you -"

"Oh, it's unnecessary -"

"It is. It very much is. How much should I —?"

"Oh no," Tintin said, his cold-reddened cheeks burning even redder, "We don't need any money —"

"A trip then! I own a hot spring resort in the Alps. I will give you a free trip. It's very nice. Very warm. I will pay for everything -"

Before Tintin could so much as open his mouth, Haddock jumped in with an eager, "We'll take it!"

.

Haddock sang himself a ditty as he packed his suitcase. A vacation to the Alps! And he didn't have to pay a cent for it! Tintin may not have needed the invitation, but he sure did. After the tussle they had, he could stand to relax his muscles, and what better place than the mountains? The chances of someone asking for their help there — well, there was still a chance — but the banker said he'd set them up in a remote cabin. No one else to share the hot spring with; a place far from the crowded main resort; a haven for the two of them -

Haddock stopped singing. Two of them. Haddock. Tintin. Them and no one else. Marlinspike Hall afforded them large amounts of privacy, yes, but there was always Nestor or Calculus around to divide attention — and barring them, the manor itself was labyrinthine enough that one could avoid confrontation if they so wished — but in a remote, tiny cabin...

Could it be too late to back out?

A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Haddock called.

It was Tintin who opened the door. "Have you not finished packing yet? We leave in an hour."

Haddock stared at his open suitcase. Sweaters folded into neat little stacks, extra towels in case there wasn't enough in the hot spring, the book he hadn't had the pleasure of finishing lying on top, waiting to be read on the plane ride over. It had been him who accepted the invitation. To reject an hour before would be ...

"Captain?"

He waved off the concern in the lad's tone. "It's fine. Nearly finished. Though remind me again, how long is our vacation? Need to figure out if I've packed enough yet."

"Two weeks."

Two weeks. Fourteen days. A fortnight. He can last that long, can't he? "Right, I have more things to pack. I'll meet you at the front door."

Oh, he hoped he wasn't making a horrible mistake.

By the time Haddock made his way to the entryway, it was five 'till. He waited with Tintin for a moment as the boy kneeled to pet Snowy, before noticing a curious lack in the lad's bagging. "Tintin, where's your carrier? You know those planes don't allow dogs on without carriers."

"Snowy's not coming," the lad remarked while petting the dog behind the ears. "Pets aren't allowed in the resort. Mr. Schmid tried to make an exemption for us, but I thought it rather unfair to get special treatment — or more special treatment than we've already gotten. So Snowy will be a good boy and stay here while we vacation."

Him and Tintin. Alone. Two weeks.

Oh dear Neptune, give him strength.

.

Haddock sighed as he sank into the steaming waters. Oh, this was heavenly. He tilted his head back and breathed in the steam. The airplane ride had been long, and they had to consult the resort's map one too many times to get to the cabin, but they had finally made it. He drifted in the steam, letting the heat do its work.

An indeterminate time later, Haddock woke from a slight doze by the sounds of footsteps. Hm. Must be Tintin. Last he checked, the lad was face-down on the covers, exhausted from the trip. Must've woken up and decided to explore.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The sun was setting; the light of the fading sun reflected off the snowcap mountains, turning everything golden. The resort was close enough that he could see their snow dotted roofs, nestled in the valley below, but distant enough that it felt a world away; a snow globe he could peer into and touch.

"Yes, it's -" Haddock turned in time to see the slender V of thin hips before Tintin sunk next to him; the upper half of his torso visible over the steaming water. "Tintin!" He shouted. Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles, was he trying to give him a heart attack? Haddock ducked until the water lapped his chin and kept his eyes focused on anywhere but next to him.

"Captain," Tintin said, sounding far too close, "must you be so shy? We're both men after all, and it's only us here."

Ah yes, only them. A private hot spring reserved only for them. How did he ever think this could turn out well?

"I think I'm still tired from our trip," Haddock said. He stood to his feet, grateful he had the sense of mind to wrap a towel around his waist - private hot spring or no. "Might head to bed early."

"Are you sure you want to retire so early?"

Don't look back. Don't look back.

"I'm sure," he croaked.

He rushed back to the cabin, shivering from the change in temperature, his wet feet slip-slapping against the polished stone floor. Once he got back, he grabbed a towel from the closet, dried himself off, and got ready for bed.

.

A firm but light pressure ran down his chest. Bumpy. It started low on his collarbone, past his pectorals, following the slight rise of his stomach before settling over his belly button. Haddock opened his eyes to darkness.

"Wh-"

The bumpiness became flat. Knuckles, he realized. The knuckles on his stomach flattened into an open palm. His eyes first caught a reflection of amusement in the moonlight before the familiar outline of a quiff gave away his nighttime intruder.

The drowsiness that layered his body evaporated in a flash. "Tintin?" His hands lifted and hovered in the air, even as he leaned into the touch. Shirtless. The nightshirt he had gone to bed with had been rucked up to his chest, leaving the chilly air to press upon his skin. He was half-clothed and Tintin was sat on him with his hands roaming his skin and—

— and he was frowning. Tintin's lips were faint in the darkness but he could still catch the down-turned corners and displeased tilt to his brow. Was he still drunk? Haddock ignored the warm hand resting over his stomach. Was this because of the mistletoe? Did he know? For every clue he'd stuffed away and every hint he'd swept under the rug, he was sure there were two more lying on the floor waiting for the reporter's investigation.

Had he figured it out then? Was he disgusted by the captain and the way his skin yearned around those capable hands? Was this goodbye? Haddock's hands twitched in the air. Ready to grab the covers and hide beneath them; to grab onto the lad and beg him to never leave — but then something tremendous happened.

Tintin's frown bloomed into a gorgeous smile.

"Great snakes, how rude of me!" He said, and it was as if any other day — but then Tintin was guiding Haddock's hands to his dainty hips and then it wasn't any other day or even every other day. Callous-roughened fingers landed on thick wool, and as the lad leaned forward, the sweater lifted to reveal the softest hint of skin. "Touch all you want, Captain. I don't mind." Hands - two hands - grabbed his hips and squeezed. Soft lips brushed against his ear, voice low and sultry, "Fair's fair, after all."

And then he woke up.

.

Hallucinations, he decided as he sat at the cabin's dining room table. Yes, he had hallucinated. It was the only reasonable explanation — the Christmas party, the massage in the study, yesterday, the dream he had this morning — old Captain Haddock had finally seen the end of the bottle too many times. He couldn't bother Tintin with this. No, he had to do the exact opposite. He must pretend everything was at ease or else — or else…

"Good morning," Tintin greeted as he slid into the seat opposite him. "Fine weather today, isn't it?"

"Yes," Haddock said. "Yes, very fine weather. It's so fine out, I think I might take a walk today."

"Oh, we can walk together -"

"No!"

The table fell silent. The fork Tintin had been using to spear his waffles fell to the plate with a soft clink. "Is this about yesterday?" Tintin asked with a furrowed brow. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I swear I wasn't — That's to say, I wasn't trying to disturb your peace." And wasn't that just like Tintin to worry after him? After the things he's done, the scenarios his filthy mind had conjured, an old sea dog like him didn't deserve someone like Tintin.

"No," he hurried to reassure, "it's my fault."

Yet Tintin didn't seem assured. Their breakfast continued in silence. When they finished, Tintin decided to spend the day at the main resort. He offered an invitation to Haddock, but the older man declined. When the lad returned, they exchanged only a handful of words before going to bed.

On the third day of their vacation, it was Haddock that headed to the main resort. He left early before his vacation partner had even woken up and returned late after he'd already gone to bed. On the fourth day, they both stayed in their rooms, only passing each other in the kitchen for brief moments and not exchanging a word. A hand reached for his on the fifth.

"Please, Captain, don't let it stay like this. I love you too much for it to stay like this."

It was the first time he'd heard the tension between them so directly addressed. It was then that Haddock realized it was harder to fool himself when the words were spoken aloud. "How do you know, Tintin? How can you speak those words with such confidence?"

"Because whenever you're not around, I can't help imagining being with you… and when I'm with you, no matter where we are, I'm home."

And it was like looking at a mirror; the feelings he thought he could never vocalize echoed back so concisely — that despite his fears — he placed his hands over Tintin's and squeezed.

.

On the sixth and seventh day, they hung out at the resort together, talking and laughing as if they hadn't given each other the silent treatment for days. They weren't up to any funny business, not yet, but if their hands sometimes brushed together or they stood too close — it was freezing out; their bodies seeking the nearest heat source was only natural.

On the eighth day, snow piled high against their door. Soon after, the electricity went out — the lights were off, the central heating was off — but they had candles and a wooden stove and enough food to last them a week. Other people might have become panicked, but they had survived far worse than a simple snow-in.

Not that one could tell with Haddock's constant complaining. "Blue blistering barnacles, it's freezing in here! I'll be an icicle before morning with how little blankets we have!"

"Well," Tintin said, with that mischievous spark in his eye, "if you want to conserve warmth, we can always share a bed."

.

How did this happen? How did he end up here?

"You don't have to be so frightened, you know," Tintin said as he placed the blankets from Haddock's room onto his bed. "As forward as I've been, I wouldn't jump you out of nowhere."

"Unlike at the Christmas party, you mean?"

Tintin quieted, his face something akin to guilt-ridden as he busied himself by straightening the covers. Of all the things to look so down-trodden over...

"It's all right, laddie," the former sea captain said, "it's not you doing the jumping that I'm afraid of."

And like in his dream, the frown bloomed into a gorgeous smile. "Oh. In that case, feel free. It's only been my goal since late December."

Haddock rocked back on his heels, his mind crashing in on itself in an eternal struggle. Was he really going to do this? This wasn't holding hands through the crowds of people huddled atop a ski hill. This wasn't sleeping side by side in a tent in the middle of nowhere. He was — They were —

Before he could psyche himself out, Haddock lifted the bedcovers and dove in, careful to not to get too near the middle. "Do you mind if we kept the lights off?" Tintin paused, a leg away from entering his side of the bed. The candle on the windowsill flickered. "I know it's a little early for lights out but it'll keep me up at night and if we don't blow it out now, you'll have to blow it out later — and it's so cold, I don't want you to catch your death so if you could —"

"I'll turn the lights off," Tintin whispered, his soft voice cutting through Haddock's ramble like a knife through butter, "but only this once." He exited the bed and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Footsteps pattered against the floor, coming closer until Haddock felt a dip into the bed. "When we get back home, I fully expect to see the fruits of my labor and the way you come undone next to me."

"Blue blistering barnacles, who taught you to speak like that? Whoever taught you must head to jail immediately."

Tintin only laughed in response, his silhouette enlarging until sock-clad feet rubbed against Haddock's ankles. "I'll be honest, of the various ways this relationship would begin, I did not think this would be one."

Despite his misgivings, the darkness emboldened him. Made it easier to ask: "And how did you imagine it would go?"

"At first, I thought you would take the lead, but now I see our relationship as a give and take, not limited by our appearances."

Haddock ducked his head at the implications. With Haddock's larger form and Tintin's… It would be the obvious assumption.

"Do you have a preference?" He asked.

"Right now? No. Right now, it doesn't matter how, so long as we do it together. But I wouldn't mind taking the lead to ease your heavy heart." A hand reached out, pressing against his stomach before finding his hip and laying itself there. "It's hardly taking advantage if I'm doing all the work."

"And do you have experience with, um," Haddock squirmed as a thumb began moving in a circular pattern, "taking the lead — or, uh —"

"Well, not quite, but I have curious hands, a one-track mind, and a propensity for fast learning. Besides, I've had plenty of experience loving you, and this is only an extension of that, isn't it?" Tintin paused as Haddock brought the covers over his face. "Too much?" He asked, with little regret.

"You're killing me!"

"Now, now. None of that." He lowered the blankets, then pressed a kiss to his temple, then his brow, then his cheek, each kiss traveling ever-southward. Haddock sighed. The kisses were pleasurable and chaste, but if Tintin continued… This wouldn't do. He halted the reporter with a soft caress to his cheek.

"Is something wrong?" And there — the slightest warble to his voice; the faintest hint that for all of Tintin's teasing, he was as flustered and uncertain as the captain.

"Don't you think we're going a wee bit fast, laddie? Shouldn't we have an outing first? Get to know each other better?"

"You want a date? Captain, I'll gladly attend a date with you any day but it's not as if we're strangers. Your name is Captain Archibald Haddock. You're a rough and tough retired sailor living in Marlinspike Hall. You prefer whiskey in your morning tea, but when you can't have that, you prefer orange juice; I should know, I pour it for you every morning. You snore in your sleep and you can sleep through almost anything but you'll wake in an instant if something buzzes in your ear. You hate parties and you say you can't dance but when drunk, you'll insist on doing nothing else. You label yourself a logical sort but you chase away any magpie you see or else it'll bring bad luck. On Tuesdays —"

"Enough! Thundering typhoons, now you make it sound as if we're married and I've been neglecting you!"

"Not so. You always check to see I haven't fallen asleep at my desk and save sugar cubes for my coffee. You follow me on dangerous journeys when you'd rather stay at home to make sure I don't kill myself and massage my neck if I'm tired. When I'm in the hospital, you stay by my side even if it's as small as a sprain. You've offered me your home, your butler, and your companionship; and if you and I were married, then I'd classify you a most dutiful husband — if a little shy." In the darkness, Haddock didn't see Tintin's smile so much as he felt it.

"Well, when you put it like that... but how are you so sure? This is so new and there's no telling what tomorrow brings. What if something goes wrong? Or if we change our minds?"

Tintin sighed, long and suffering, as if _he_ was the unreasonable one. "Let me paint you an image of tomorrow then. I will wake up before you and prepare breakfast. Then I'll wake you by buzzing in your ear. You'll slap your face awake and glare at me while I'll laugh, but you'll forgive me once you smell the breakfast I've made. The cabin will be cold still, and you'll be reluctant to leave the bed. I'll offer to bring you your breakfast, which you'll decline only to be polite, but when I insist, you'll fold faster than a house of cards. We'll eat in bed together and when you're distracted, I'll kiss you while syrup sticks to your beard and you'll splutter and blush and look cute like you always do —"

"I don't look _cute_ —"

"— and sometime during the day, your doubts will resurface. You'll demean us both with your excuses. You'll say I'm too young or you're too old."

"But —"

As if hearing his thoughts, Tintin whispered, "Please Captain, let's leave that for tomorrow." In a louder tone, he continued, "And then I will become angry with you and we'll argue. But then, because I know you, my captain with a large temper but a tender heart, I will forgive you. And when we make up — not because you or I won but because we tire of fighting and you look cute when you say sorry — I will fall in love with you all over again. And even though I promised I'd give you time and not rush you, I'll sneak in another kiss."

Then he does just that, moving across the bed as if a siren in the water to land a single kiss on the captain's nose. "And from then on we'll spend the day together. Maybe we'll go exploring if the snow has gone, or stay by the wood stove and read. You'll tell me a story I've heard before but I'll listen because I love the sound of your voice, and I'll tell you a story you've heard before but you'll make all the right noises as if it was your first time hearing it. And if we're lucky, by the end of the day, I can convince you to share a bed with me again. I promise we won't have to do anything strenuous if you don't want to. Only this."

And he makes it sound so easy; a road map he'd planned out if only the captain let him lead. And judging by his heart's pounding — the way his ribs felt as if they were collapsing in his chest — he wanted the lad to lead. "If it's easy as that, then I have nothing to fear of tomorrow," Haddock mused.

Silence.

"Tintin?"

"Yes?"

He goes in for a kiss. It's not the best kiss in the dark, sloppy and crooked, but he tries to pour everything in it: the love and the longing; the frustration and the fear. When he breaks away, he can still hear Tintin's breathing ghosting over his tingling lips.

"I'll be honest. I don't know tomorrow, not as you do. I still think this is a bad idea, but I can't — No, I will not dishonor the simple truth of loving you, because you deserve love. I will not lie and say I don't love you — I do, but this is — Never in a million years — But even if I bluster and avoid and raise a fuss... I guess what I'm saying is... be patient with me, please."

A hand threads itself in his hair. "Always, my captain."

**Author's Note:**

> 1) If you're looking for an update on The Interview.... I'm sorry.... I'll finish it one day, I half-promise.  
> 2) This was for Tintin's birthday but I'm like five minutes late in my timezone so this is very rushed. I'll edit it later.
> 
> Edited: Jan 20, 2020.


End file.
